


Three Sterek Commentfics (that are in no way connected because I am lazy)

by rispacooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clothing, Comment Fic, Courtship, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kink, M/M, Ownership, Pining, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three short stories based on three very different prompts. </p><p>1) Tired of vegetarian healthy dinners, Derek brings home a deer.  Meat jokes ensue.</p><p>2) Stiles wearing Derek's clothes, which gets Derek all possessive. </p><p>3) based off a throwaway line in "The Life of Stiles" --dickslap! (this one is explicit)</p><p> </p><p>I am not sure I wrote exactly what they wanted, but here you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dlasta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dlasta), [coffeebuddha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/gifts).



> All of these are based on prompts given to me by two evil outbreak monkeys, dlasta and coffeebuddha. Only one is explicit and it's very short. I also didn't tag this as underage because I deliberately left Stiles' age unstated, but it's older than he is on the show right now.

Stiles was staring and he knew it. He thought anyone, even a person experienced with werewolves such as himself, would have been staring. It wasn't every day that Derek walked into his house shirtless and wet with a very large, very dead deer slung over his shoulder. Derek moved easily as if it was no weight at all and despite the serious frown leveling his eyebrows, his mouth was open in what might have been a grin. A victorious grin, as if the deer had ever stood a chance against his sheer power. 

Stiles licked his lips and felt his gaze travel down over Derek's chest, because seriously, his chest was bare and there was no sign of any shirt, none at all. Even his pants were wet, and as Derek came closer Stiles could see the traces of mud on him too, and the faint, pinkish color in the droplets sliding down over Derek's skin. 

Of which there was a lot. So much skin. Wet and foresty and smelling like mountain streams and copper. 

"Uh, what?" It was all Stiles could come up with for a second or two. Derek once again had no shirt, but he was revealing very fangy fangs and he should have been cold but the entire kitchen was hot now, summer levels of hot, like steam should have been rising from Derek's sizable shoulders. Stiles wanted to cling to them and instead backed up until he hit the oven. 

Stiles could tell, this, this caveman werewolf display was going to be a thing with him now. As if their whole current living arrangement weren't already awkward. 

It was bad enough with Derek being here in their house under his dad's watchful eye with his dad thinking that Derek was Stiles' inappropriate older friend who needed a place to crash… or thinking Derek was Stiles' inappropriate older "friend" who needed a place to crash. Stiles wasn't quite sure _what_ his dad thought, he just knew that it was only because his dad knew Derek's family history that he'd agreed to let Derek stay at all--and that would likely end if Stiles started trailing after Derek with his mouth hanging open the way he wanted to. 

He had no idea what Derek thought about it and had no plans to ask. Stiles knew himself, he knew he wasn't subtle and he had Derek in his house now, Derek had to know the way he made Stiles feel. Derek just… wasn't doing anything about it, not even whatever weird lurking, flirting thing he'd been doing before he'd started sleeping under the Stilinski family roof. Stiles ought to be grateful, getting rejected by Derek while Derek was still "crashing on their couch" was a stress he didn't need as his exams approached. 

At the thought he remembered to shut his mouth at least but one glance up let him see the _very_ satisfied lift to Derek's eyebrows. It made his sneaky little grin seem even more obvious.  


Stiles crossed his arms and Derek dropped the deer onto the counter, onto his _kitchen counter_ , and continued to grin at him. 

Stiles made it a point to look at the giant dead deer and not flinch. Then he looked back at Derek and thought of an explanation for that smugly pleased, toothy smile that Derek wasn't bothering to hide. 

"This is about last night," Stiles remarked. He'd made dinner because his dad had been home, stuffed peppers and veggie burgers. It hadn't been fries, but it had been good, even if the soy cheese might have been going too far. His dad had complained about its lack of flavor in addition to how gassy soy made him and Derek had just stared at his plate like he wasn't sure his bell pepper weren't full of wolf's bane before finally turning fierce eyes on Stiles. 

"I need meat," he'd started, as if Stiles hadn't made him dinner with own hands, and to make it worse, his dad had perked up. 

"Man after my own heart," he'd agreed. Stiles had snapped at him, because Derek wasn't after his heart, Derek was just being an asshole.

"Your heart is the reason we are eating this nutritious feast," Stiles had huffed. Derek had leveled a look at him, then a grin that had triggered all kinds of fear and lust responses in Stiles' primitive brain. Also in his pants. 

"I prefer meat." Derek smiled so rarely it should be an event when he actually looked happy. Or smug. Or teasing. Or whatever was going on with him lately. 

Stiles had glared back at him to cover for his flushed cheeks. He had resolutely chosen not make a meat eater joke at the table, not with his dad there. 

"It's good for you." He'd waved at both of them in disgust. "You need roughage. Getting stopped up is no joke."

It had earned him a growl from Derek and a choking sound from his dad. Stiles had stood firm, especially to Derek, since he hadn't seen Derek helping in that kitchen. 

"I made it and I don't care if you are…" he'd stopped himself before saying 'werewolf' out loud, only to make it so much worse for himself, " _incredibly_ physically fit, vegetables never killed anyone."

So he should learn when to shut up. But Derek hadn't said anything about his ogling, he'd just growled again. "I could try to change that."

And really, how was it that he had reached the point where Derek Hale could threaten Stiles with death by vegetable at the table and his dad didn't even bat an eyelash? Stiles was almost convinced that if he did jump into Derek's bed… aka the couch… his dad would barely even comment. Derek might kill him though. He'd thought they'd had something before, maybe, or something like something. But now Derek was so respectful he hadn't even invaded Stiles' personal space in over a month. 

Stiles sighed for that while he and Derek continued their weird staring contest over the dead deer. Clearly Derek had been living there too long, with his stupid collection of t shirts in the laundry room that he should be wearing, all of them, right now. Or never wear again, Stiles hadn't decided which was better for his sanity. But he could do without Derek's hair products taking up all the space in Stiles' bathroom or this… display of….

Power. Stiles sighed. Stupid hot werewolf ability and prowess and power. Fuck. 

He resolutely turned away from Conan the Barbarian and his bare, bloodied, wet chest and stared, again, at the offering he had laid out for Stiles. 

It had to be some kind of dick werewolf statement, Stiles was sure. Or a werewolf-dick statement, he thought a second later on a quietly frantic note and shook his head. It wasn't a statement like that, it was a gesture. Derek had grown up in a house, after all, he had manners… sometimes. 

So Stiles turned back toward Derek and into eyes that seemed clearer than usual, focused. He swallowed. Derek's grin got bigger. The stupid grin. At least it wasn't bloodthirsty. 

"Aw what is that?" Stiles remembered belatedly that should have been whining by now, and got an eyeroll and a whuffing sound that made him think Derek was maybe still a little bit in wolf mode. Or caveman mode. Stiles almost beat his chest with his fist and asked if Derek could make fire, fire good. He tapped the countertop instead, not exactly touching the dead deer, then asked it again. "Derek, what is that?"

Small words worked best with wolves. Anyway Stiles was too wired now to bother with deep thoughts. 

"Dinner." Derek grunted but huffed again and went on when Stiles rolled his hand. His shrug was almost too casual. "Venison is healthy."

And… it actually was. Stiles knew that from when he researched his dad's dietary options. 

He scratched his head then jerked his head up when he realized he was following a pinkish trail of water slide down Derek's chest and that Derek wasn't breathing anymore.  


Stiles was also having issues with air. "So you brought me--him--a deer?"

"I like meat." Derek lowered his head to watch him. 

"You're really preverbal right now aren't you?" Stiles wondered absently as his body trembled with this restless energy that was strange even for his standards. He realized he hadn't been alone with Derek for a long time and quickly let more words spill out of his mouth. "Did the hunt do that to you?" It was a theory he had about the werewolves on a chase, that much freedom to run left them more in touch with their instincts than they usually let show. 

Derek's eyebrows become a line again. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. His wet, tight, jeans pockets. 

"You want it or not?" he demanded gruffly. 

Stiles quickly raised his eyes from Derek's soaked waistline and noted the discomfort all over Derek's body language. It was unexpectedly warming. Studying body language was a great way to communicate better with emotionally stunted werewolves with monumental trust issues, especially this particular one. Stiles fought a smile at the realization that Derek was probably being pack about this, he wanted the meat, but he also wanted to provide and he wanted Stiles to approve. Sure he was being a dick about it, but that was his way.

He was so offended right now. Like Stiles had shut him down by rejecting a gift. 

"My dad will," Stiles gave in with a sigh but it didn't take away Derek's frown. 

"But not you?" he asked, his eyes staying light but getting somehow fiercer. Stiles had so many feelings he couldn't process them all. His world was too big and the kitchen was suddenly too small. He had to say something before he embarrassed himself by admitting what he did want.

He opened his mouth. The words came out sarcastic and breathless and a touch too fast. "Should I comment on why you think I'd be impressed by that much meat?" 

He was cracking a smile the second he heard himself and then he bent over, laughing at the floor in a kind of hysterical way because he'd just asked about Derek's meat and what a great segue into a come on, oh hey, Derek, let's talk about the size of your meat. He was going to die, but he couldn't stop laughing. 

Derek didn't actually kill him, he just made that sound like Stiles had amused him but he was too cool to admit it. He waited for Stiles to straighten up and when he did, Derek exhaled. 

He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He must have bathed in a stream, Stiles realized distantly, Derek must have cleaned himself up before bringing the mess into the house. It was werewolf thoughtful, like Derek hadn't been too lost in the hunt to remember that Stiles didn't want a houseful of blood. It was… nice. 

Stiles felt his last smile fall away. He was staring again. Derek was breathing heavily but he was still, like he was still waiting for something. Like Stiles' reaction to the whole giant dead deer thing. Stiles wondered why he wasn't moving. He ought to be moving. His body wanted him to move. Forward and not away, but that was a separate issue. 

Derek, meanwhile, seemed barely capable of words. 

"If I say yes is this going to become a thing?" Stiles pushed out and bit his lip before he could add, _like the one in my pants?_

Derek looked confused again. Then he nodded. "If you wanted." 

Stiles was starting to feel like the deer must have felt, his heart was racing, his skin tight. He was so hot, like his body wanted him to run, which he wasn't about to do. 

"You just like the chase," he tossed out, teasing, totally seriously teasing, even if Derek didn't seem to think so. Someday, Stiles was convinced, Derek might find Stiles' big mouth endearing instead of annoying. Today was probably not that day. 

"You going to give me one?" Derek growled unexpectedly back at him, just… out of nowhere, showing his teeth and shaking his head and growling, and Stiles felt the heat in his stomach travel upward until he was more jittery and more warm and he couldn't think _at all_. He could have been hard, he probably was. Instinct made him move and his forebrain made him try to cover and the rest… well the rest just happened. 

One second he was in the kitchen and then he was darting into the living room and yelling, "Eat me!" over his shoulder, which was the kind of thing guaranteed to make anyone chase him, much less powerful, hungry werewolves who had just dropped a fucking hunk of venison in front of him to impress him.

Stiles was maybe a little hysterical. Another laugh slipped out as he moved around the couch, because Derek had followed him and they were in his house, circling around Derek's bed, and later Stiles' brain was going to have something to say about that. He snagged the pillow Derek used and flung it at Derek's face. Like a werewolf slumber party, like a _game_ , which it could have been because Derek could have caught him before he'd left the kitchen and he hadn't. He just shook off the pillow and a lot more water with it and grinned at Stiles before jumping over the couch. 

Stiles took off in the opposite direction, already out of breath and laughing at the same time. 

"Slow ass fucking werewolves!" he hollered as he ran, first toward the stairs and then ducking back toward the laundry room where he skidded to a stop because, oops, that was a dead end. 

"That's enough, Bambi!" Derek commented from behind him in the doorway and Stiles turned around with a gasp.

"Bambi!" Stiles _did_ pound his chest, in outrage "I am at least Thumper!" he insisted and threw one of Derek's stinky t-shirts at him. Derek just huffed. Stiles' heart was still pounding, but Derek wasn't wolfed out, like he understood a joke after all. Stiles bumped into the dryer. "You just killed Bambi, remember?" 

"And you never said if you liked it." Derek was still coming into the room, and it wasn't like the room was all that big. If he wasn't going to kill Stiles than he'd better be serious, because he really couldn't take this much wet shirtlessness this close without embarrassing himself. 

Derek stopped in front of him, waiting, and Stiles wet his mouth and inhaled kill scents that really probably shouldn't turn him on when he was definitely in the "prey" category most of the time. 

"I… uh… I like it," he whispered, exhaling loudly when Derek made a low noise and put his hands on either side of him. 

The sound of the front door closing was loud and jarring. 

"Are we having venison?" Stiles heard his father call out in an excited voice and gaped when Derek yanked himself back and turned to reach for a t-shirt. One of _Stiles'_ clean shirts, Stiles couldn't help but notice. He gave Stiles one last, clear-eyed, fierce look, and then left Stiles to turn around so he could pant and put his hot face to the cool dryer. 

"I'm not preparing that!" he yelled a few moments later because no, he wasn't, unless it was in clean steak form. Then he adjusted himself through his pants and went out to help prepare it anyway.


	2. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coffeebuddha asked for Stiles wearing Derek's clothes and getting possessive and I meant it to be hot and instead angst came out. sigh.

There were certain things Derek knew should be beneath him as an Alpha, even if being an Alpha wasn't what he had always imagined it was when he had watched his family together. He had grown up with Laura's strength and assumed she was always strong, that she'd never had moments of doubt or weakness. Later he had thought that she must have felt these things and fought against them, as if she were naturally better at this than he could ever be. 

It had taken years and nightmares brought to life for him to realize the obvious truth that his sister, any leader, had fears and worries and weaknesses of their own, and that real strength lay in their ability to know which to control alone and which to share. 

A pack was stronger than any single wolf, this fact had been drummed into his head since childhood, but he had never really understood it until he'd been forced to. It had still been difficult to do this and have them know. It was difficult even now, to have them sit behind him and watch him watch Stiles. 

He felt weak, though none of them said a word, maybe because they were young and once upon a time they had been as fragile as Stiles still was. The scratch down Stiles' arm wasn't too serious, though the bandages were no longer soaking with his blood as they had been a few hours ago. If Stiles wore long sleeves for a few weeks his father might not notice, and that would be important to Stiles when he woke up. 

Of more concern was the high color of fever in Stiles' face and the way he still hadn't regained consciousness. Until he did, Derek couldn't, wouldn't, take him home. Deaton had promised Stiles would wake soon before he'd left, and the kindness in his words should have made Derek's hackles rise. Instead he had taken it, all but telling the man everything--though he had already seemed to know. 

Derek's weakness might be nothing new to him, but Derek didn't want him thinking the same weakness applied to Stiles. His pack knew, smelling it on him, offering him the comfort of their silence and their presence, but Derek knew the world and knew the dangers of letting anyone else become aware of the weak, frightened wolf he really was. 

He dropped the ripped, Stiles-scented, blood-stained t-shirt he was holding and moved toward the bed. It was his bed, a mattress covered in blankets in a cold room, but it was only bed available. That was what he had said, as if Deaton and the others weren't all silently aware of his desperation. 

Stiles had been cold, shivering despite his burning temperature, so Derek had stripped his bloodied clothes from him and replaced them with his t-shirt, his sweatpants. Stiles was wrapped in him and though the knowledge was like the same fever under Derek's skin, it wasn't enough satisfy him now. 

He could not take his eyes off of Stiles and they could all see that. But he climbed into the bed and curled up against Stiles' good side. He shut his eyes and let out a small sound when Stiles shuddered and tried to pull away. Body heat, he knew. Stiles was already burning up and it was a natural reaction, but he had to swallow back his howl. 

If Stiles were awake Derek would not be doing this. If Stiles were awake he'd be demanding in an obnoxious voice to know why he was wearing Derek's clothes and why Derek was cuddling him and why was he in Derek's bed. He would have no apologies for jumping in front of a poisoned dart meant for someone else and would call Derek a freak for expecting him to. 

Derek felt the cold ball in his stomach grow bigger, and turned to put his face to Stiles' neck and let his hand fall to Stiles' stomach, to his shirt over Stiles' stomach, too big and loose, hot and smelling of Derek. Stiles shivered again but didn't shudder away this time. 

There were drops of sweat at Stiles' skin now, tangy and undoubtedly salty. Derek kept his tongue in his mouth and let his fingers curl into his shirt again, feeling cotton and Stiles' heartbeat and the satisfaction of finally having Stiles to himself. He spread his hand out, rubbing a circle into Stiles' stomach when Stiles shifted and made a distressed noise and then felt fierce pride when that made Stiles settle back against him. 

This was the stillest Stiles might have ever been and Derek breathed in and out with him for long moments before looking over at the rest of his pack. Their eyes were on him, their expressions mostly puzzled, though none of them risked a word. They were new to their instincts, but even humans could understand what it meant for him have Stiles wrapped in him. They might not approve, but they had been there, they had seen what Stiles had done to protect them all. 

If Derek had expected disgust or arguments then he had failed to have faith in his pack, one more mark against him as an Alpha. After a moment of stares Boyd offered him a nod, then Isaac. Erica did not, but she was the first to come forward. She curled against Stiles' other side, though she carefully did not touch him. 

Derek let out a breath once she was quiet then looked back at Stiles. He heard Boyd and Isaac creep closer and felt some of the tightness in his chest ease to know that if Stiles had died they would have howled with him. 

This was _their_ weakness now, and their strength. It had saved his life. He was going to kill Stiles when he woke up just the same. When Stiles woke up, because he would now, eventually, murmuring and shifting sleepily back to life in Derek's arms and surrounded by his family, Derek would pull away to yell at him. 

He would push and snarl at Stiles for his stupidity. He would order Erica to take Stiles home. He would lie in his bed alone and inhale the scent of Stiles' blood and he would watch Stiles wear his clothing as he left. 

Because though Stiles might make Derek feel afraid and small and long for his strength he knew better than to let Stiles see it. There were some things an Alpha knew to control.


	3. That Mouth Belongs to Stiles

It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t appreciate the blowjob, because he did, he so did, but some things had to be dealt with quickly or Derek might start getting ideas.

So he grabbed a handful of Derek’s hair and pulled his head back, stifling a moan at the feel of Derek’s mouth sliding off his cock. Derek looked up at him, surprised, annoyed, maybe a little hurt, but Stiles stayed firm. He grabbed his dick with one hand and flicked his wrist, slapping the head of his cock against Derek’s mouth. He almost had a heart attack, but he did it.

For a moment Derek just stared at him, his lips shiny and open, his tongue visible, and then his eyebrows came together in a frown that might have meant a maiming for anyone else. But he didn’t get up off his knees and he didn’t close his mouth. He breathed hard like Stiles was breathing and then licked his lips. 

Stiles held still, okay he trembled, but so did Derek as he stayed there on his knees. He _stayed there on his knees_ and then nodded, with his gaze steady on Stiles’ face.

Stiles sighed gratefully then loosened his grip on Derek’s hair, enough so it wasn’t painful but tight enough to pull Derek back so Derek could finish sucking him off.

“Remember that next time you think about letting Erica or anyone else kiss you.” Stiles kept his voice hard but ran his fingers in sweeping strokes down around Derek’s ears, petting him because he could. He made himself go on while Derek moaned around his dick and apologized with his tongue. “That mouth belongs to me.”


End file.
